Don't Follow Me--You'll Live Longer
by Lexi JJ
Summary: After being shot on the job, courier Jack Flint is left to put the pieces together and figure out his place in the Mojave Desert. Kind of a "novelization" of my experience playing Fallout: New Vegas. There will be action and romance and irradiated monsters. It will be fun, so come on in. Besides, there aren't enough Courier x Sunny Smiles fics out there.
1. Chapter 1 - An 18-Carat Run of Bad Luck

**A/N: Nov. 30, 2013 Update - I've now posted chapter two. I had previously written an author's note for this chapter, but apparently it didn't save. I will try to post new updates every few days or so, hopefully weekly at most. The chapters will also get a little longer as the story goes. Unless you prefer the shorter chapters, like I sometimes do. If you care enough, let me know in the reviews. I'm always open to story suggestions too. Any suggestions, really. I hope you enjoy!**

Chapter One

An 18-Carat Run of Bad Luck

"Jack Flint," I said, and the man nodded while repeating my name.

He scratched his chin. "I'm Doc Mitchell," he said.

It was silent for a moment, giving me a chance to notice how hot it was, the sweat sticking to my neck and the back of my bare legs. An inexplicable chill came over me and I shivered. Doc raised his white eyebrows.

"I've got to admit," he said, "I didn't reckon you'd make it." Doc had a stern brow, though not unkind. What hair remained on his aged head rested above his upper lip and around the sides and back of his head. He looked very clean, even for a doctor.

I coughed, causing a wave of pain to echo inside my skull. I ran a hand down my face then through my sandy hair, which had been lightened by countless hours spent in the desert sun. There were no stitches or scars. "How long have I been here?" I said.

Doc cleared his throat and said, "Quite a few weeks, maybe even a month. You've been in and out of consciousness. Don't remember a thing?"

"The last thing I remember is staring down the barrel of a nine millimeter pistol. Do you have my stuff?"

"It's on the table by the front door." Doc stared hard at me, furrowing his thick eyebrows, chasing a train of thought.

I made to stand up off the thin mattress, the springs croaking like an army of frogs. Everything got sharp and blurred at the same time. Doc reached out and grabbed my arm to steady me. I took a second to gather myself before getting to my bare feet. Another shiver ran through me.

"Here, let me grab you something to wear," Doc said. He headed for the open doorway, casting a glance back at me before disappearing from sight. I didn't know where I was. I mean, Doc's house, clearly, but I had no clue where Doc's house was. I was almost to New Vegas the guy in the suit and his thugs got me. I could see the casino lights shining in the distance. The dry heat comforted me, let me know that I was still in the Mojave, at least.

I couldn't tell what time of day it was because the windows were all boarded up. An old gas lamp shone from the desk across the room. All I could see through the dim light was a couple of portable partitions, a pair of crutches leaning against the wall, and a shelf of IV tubes and rusty leg braces. Doc stepped back in and tossed a wad of clothes at my feet, dropped a pair of boots by the doorway.

"Go ahead and put those on," he said. "I'll wait for you outside."

I put on the plaid button up shirt that would probably be too hot, and the denim pants. I rolled up the shirt sleeves, just above my elbows.I put on the long socks and slid my feet into the boots. They were a little cozy, but they would do for now.

I walked through the dark hallway in the direction Doc had gone, the floorboards creaking beneath me. I opened what I guessed was the front door. It was bright outside, the sun directly above my head. Dizziness overcame me for a second, and I had to grab the door frame to keep my balance. Doc was sitting in a frayed lawn chair, a woven cattleman's hat protecting his bald head. He looked up at me. "Your things," he said, lifting up a pack that had been on the ground next to him. He must have put my stuff in it. It was heavy duty, military grade probably, which meant it would be long-lasting. I was grateful. "Thanks for fixing me up," I said.

Doc pinched the front lip of his hat with his thumb and forefinger, dipped his head down slightly. "I hope you don't mind it much, but I took a look at the letter in there." He cleared his throat. "I thought maybe it was from family, or a friend. Someone who'd care you'd been held up."

I put on the pack, adjusting the straps around my shoulders.

"None of it made much sense to me," Doc said. "But I'd go check out the saloon down the street. They see more travelers than I do. Might be able to tell you where to go."

"Thanks again," I said. I looked out over the sagebrush-spotted landscape. I was already thirsty. I located the Prospector Saloon about a hundred yards away, the neon sign bright even in broad daylight. I walked down the dusty hill, my toes pressing against the tips of the boots.


	2. Chapter 2 - Vera

**A/N: The chapters will be short for a while, but like I said previously, let me know in the reviews if you have an opinion about whether they should even get longer or not. Like I also said, I am certainly open to story suggestions. If there's somewhere you'd like this to go, speak up! I want everybody to have a good time. Enjoy!**

Chapter Two

Vera

The building next to the saloon said "Goodsprings General Store" on the front of it. So, Goodsprings. That's where I was.

A tumbleweed the size of a mole rat blew across the front porch of the saloon as I stepped onto it. The wood was rotting, broken in some places. A couple of plywood boards had been placed from the door to the steps, just wide enough to allow tipsy patrons to make it to the ground without hurting themselves. I walked through the front door, which was already open. I could see dust floating everywhere through the light filtering in from the grimy windows. A jukebox flickered in the corner, playing _Blue Moon _at varying volumes.

I took a seat at the bar, a few seats down from the only other customer in the place. The bartender, a middle-aged woman with short, dark hair approached me. "What can I get-wait. You're Doc Mitchell's patient," she said. It wasn't a question. I imagined Doc parading the townsfolk through his house, them staring at me like a dead brahmin. How else could she have known?

I nodded. "Yep."

"Name's Trudy," she said. She reached under the bar and grabbed a bottle of whisky, placed it in front of me.

"Just some water, if you've got it," I said.

Trudy put the whisky back. "Sure thing," she said. "It's clean, too. Well, compared to most."

I took a swig of water from the glass. It was warm, but made me feel a whole lot better regardless. As I lifted the glass to my mouth again, I heard a dog bark and steps on the front porch.

A tall woman with tied back brown hair and tanned skin stepped inside, a big, mean-looking dog by her side. She had on some kind of armored leather getup. She did a sweep of the place, as I had, and sat in the stool next to me. The dog curled up on the floor and began licking the dust off its paws. "Hey, Trude," she said.

"This is the guy who's been staying with Doc," Trudy said, motioning toward me.

"Sunny Smiles," the woman said. I hated introductions. Sunny smiled, true to her interesting name, and I noticed a small scar on her face near her left eye. It made me think she was tough, though I had no real evidence of it. She could have gotten it from a bloatfly. I extended a hand and she shook it.

The stranger at the other end of the bar had fallen asleep. Trudy pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders and folded her arms, while Sunny shifted in her seat.

"Are you sticking around any longer? Or are you out of here now that you're on your feet?" Sunny said.

"I need to go," I said, then hesitated. "But I don't know where to, yet."

"Well, Sunny here could probably show you around. Get you to your feet," Trudy said. It seemed to me like Trudy ran Goodsprings, though unofficially. She seemed levelheaded enough. Sunny appeared to respect her. That's really all you need to manage a place like this. Respect.

"Do you have a gun?" Sunny said. Her voice was a bit raspy, adding to my notion that she had seen more than most the others in town. Been through more, I mean.

"Had one," I said. "Vera. Revolver—pretty little thing. She was taken."

"Well follow me, then" Sunny said, another grin on her face. "Keep an eye on Cheyenne for me, will you?" she said to Trudy, who nodded. Sunny stood from the dirty, cracked leather barstool and headed for the back door.

I finished my near full water glass and set it on the counter. "Thanks, Trudy," I said, and trailed behind Sunny out the back door. Cheyenne, the dog, stayed underneath the bar.

Damn, it was hot. It would take some time to readjust to the Mojave. Sunny grabbed a rifle that was leaning against a rotting wooden fence and tossed it to me.

"Thanks," I said. "Is this yours?"

"I took it off a Powder Ganger," she said. "He came sniffing around the wells. I told him to leave. He wouldn't, so I shot him and swiped his gun."

"It's—"

"A piece of shit, I know," she said. "But it works. Vera II."

I looked down at the weapon in my hands. The bolt carrier was rust covered, the iron sights grinded down. Accuracy would be a challenge. Sunny tossed me a couple clips, which I placed in my front pocket.

"Speaking of the wells," Sunny said, "it's about time for my daily sweep. Want to run down there with me?"

I had nowhere else to go, so I accepted. We took off in a southern direction, following the crumbling remains of a paved road.

"What did those guys want from you?" Sunny asked, after minutes of rather uncomfortable silence.

"To kill me, I'd bet," I said. A sad attempt at humor.

"Clearly. But what for?"

"They took something from me. I need to find them—find it."

"What did they take? I mean, besides Vera,"

I pulled back on the bolt of my rifle, putting a bullet in the chamber. Just in case we ran into anything. Also stalling for a second so I could decide how I should answer Sunny's question. I decided honestly. "A platinum chip," I said. "A platinum poker chip." We took a right, onto a dusty footpath.

"Who the hell wants a chip made of platinum?" she said.

"I don't know. I try not to ask questions. I just do the job."

"Who were you carrying it for?"

I used the collar of my shirt to try and wipe some of the sweat off my face. "I'm a courier for the Mojave Express," I said. "Well, I was. Before getting shot in the face. I'm not sure what I am now."

Sunny rested her rifle against her shoulder, like a soldier in marching formation. Hers looked like mine, but newer. Deadlier. I scratched my chin—audibly, due to the stubble growing there. Doc had saved my life _and_ shaved my face. I owed him something more than just a "thank you."

"They stopped in the saloon, you know. The goons who tried to kill you," Sunny said. "They were giving Trudy a rough time, asking for free drinks cussing up a storm. Trudy does not like cussing."

"Do you know where they went?" I said, thankful she had brought up the subject.

"They took off toward Primm," she said, pointing forward, to the south. "We didn't know they'd shot anybody at that point, or we would have tried to stop them."

Primm. I had passed through there on my way to New Vegas with the chip, which meant it must not be far from Goodsprings.

We finally reached the first well. Nothing there but a rotting gecko corpse. Sunny took a sip of water from the pump. "Want some?" she said. "It's rad-free."

I put my mouth under the water trickling from the spout and got a mouthful. Nice and cold. We returned to the path and descended through a corridor of tall boulders. As we came around the corner, I saw the second well.

I also saw a posse of convicts. Powder Gangers. I counted seven.

"Ah, shit," Sunny muttered.

I gripped my gun a little tighter.


End file.
